


A Bet On This Bout

by Kaapl



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur isn't getting TB a second time, Dutch van der Linde Being an Asshole, Gonna Be Honest I Have No Idea Where This Is Going, High Honor Arthur Morgan, M/M, Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption (2010), Protective Arthur, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Spoilers, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-21 12:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaapl/pseuds/Kaapl
Summary: ‘Arthur had never even considered the possibility of changing anything, not just because it would be pointless to do so, but also because he had long since come to terms with everything. Now the many possible what-ifs were consuming him, he felt it crawling up his spine, filling his lungs and holding his throat. Regret is a malevolent poison, there was no doubt in Arthur’s mind that his restful days were over, no doubt regret would soon take him whole and trap him forever.Maybe he had been wrong, his sins had not been overlooked so graciously. Maybe he had been sent to hell after all‘
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 5





	1. Prelude - Welcome to Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first venture into any sort of fanfiction, and honestly only the 2nd piece of creative writing i’ve done outside of having to do it when in school. Here’s hoping I’ll be something people can enjoy. I’ll be interested in any feedback to help me improve my writing.
> 
> If anyone was curious the title of this story comes from my favourite game of all time, Tales of Vesperia.

Arthur had never expected to know the feeling of true peace - serenity. His life had been a relentless whirlwind. Those few times his shoulders were free of any burden had been accompanied with an ever-present doubt; never expecting it to last long enough to take the time to simply be. More importantly, if there was an afterlife he had no doubts there would be little peace in wherever he was going.

He had hurt many; some he felt deserving of it - vile people who seemed to live for the sole purpose of tearing those around them down and jeering at the scraps left behind, some who had simply been unfortunate enough to cross his path when he had been particularly desperate or even just callous. Yet his sins had not weighed his soul down enough for it to be dragged into the eternal damnation that he expected. To his credit he had never harmed someone for simply the intent, it had always been done to provide or protect his family and those who were close enough to him, even so, it was a weak justification. 

After his health began to take a sharp decline, and Dutch’s carefully crafted image of the future had become muddied, Arthur had quickly decided this wasn’t how he wanted to leave his mark on the world. He supposed it must have been the last few months of devoting his body and soul to helping others that tipped the scales of judgement ever so slightly. 

As he lay taking his final, staggered breath, broken and beaten down, a strange relief washed over him. He had made a difference in the end, gave what little strength he had left to make sure Abigail and Jack were safe, and then pushed even further, grinding what was left of himself down so that John could be with them. He was sure he would die filled with regrets up until he stared into that sunrise and it was then he experienced tranquility; he had one short, fairly meaningless life to live but he had done all he could at the time. 

The rising sun had seemed to expel the fear of death, not that the idea of death had ever been something he shied away from to begin with. Regardless, he’d be a fool to not feel uneasy at the prospect of whatever afterlife, or lack thereof awaited him. It was a death far too good for a man like him, having the calming shine warm his chilled skin and beckon him towards it. And that deer, his guide, as it had been for some time now was waiting to lead him further forward. Arthur had already realised it to be a sort of herald for his approaching end, yet it never felt like a warning, more so a promise of an end to his suffering.

In the blink of an eye; the pause of a stilted breath, the aching and failing body of his felt light in a way it never had before. Both his body and soul no longer chained down with years of grief and pain. So he rose from his final resting place, and made toward his new forever; free of doubt, free of regret, free of the bindings of loyalty that had kept him tied down for so long, finally free.


	2. 0 - Elysian Fields

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd (1st-ish?) chapter since the prelude was so short, some additional notes in end notes to read.

It wasn’t possible to say how long Arthur had been here, the concept of time may not have even existed now and even if it did there was little point acknowledging It, this was it after all - eternity. It certainly was pleasant, an endless expanse of nature just for him and his guide. Clearings of vibrant verdure dusted with equally as colourful flora, all encompassed by the dense forest that was now his home. If there was a heaven that so many spoke of he doubted this was it though, otherwise he wouldn’t be here alone. Maybe this was simply how everyone ended up, alone but content in their own world; or this was how those deemed not deserving of suffering nor altruistic enough to enter something far greater ended up. He thought of it as his graciously given justice, he wouldn’t admonish any kindness given after all the people he hurt; it would be ridiculous to expect to end up wherever the innocent like Eliza and Isaac were. 

This was likely where most of his fellow, former even, gang members ended up. Hosea and Lenny, Sean and Susan, maybe Molly and Kieran ended up somewhere else. Molly had done nothing wrong except fall in love with the wrong man and her life had been taken abruptly just trying to get something back at the one who had tossed her aside. Arthur doubted Kieran had hurt anyone, or anything, without just reasoning; the only time he’d ever seen the man be anything close to violent was when he saved Arthur despite how poorly he had treated the man both prior and following that moment. Maybe the others each had their own space made just for them; their own world where they could spend forever in peace. 

Arthur would gladly stay here without any grievances, it was more than he deserved, and being in a perpetual calm is something one wouldn’t give up willingly.

The blissful solitude is what made it so easy to feel safe for once, no constant threat of the law chasing him down, no risk of starving or having those around him get themselves into trouble. It’s that illusion of safety that Arthur had fallen for; no one could truly blame him for it, he never expected peace in his life and it never came as he had assumed it wouldn’t. In this place however, what trouble could possibly disturb him. All that was here was Arthur, him and his guide whom he’d taken to calling Boadicea - a small reminder of the better times in his life that he could now look back on fondly for as long as he wished.

He lay resting against a large oak, cooled by its shadows as the sun warmed the air - the feeling was that of a pleasantly warm spring afternoon. Boadicea was in the distance, always close by in some way, so it wasn’t hard to notice when they snapped their head to Arthur - and suddenly the illusion was broken.

Boadicea had stared only briefly and then hurried off. And just as soon as Arthur lost sight of his guide he realised Boadicea hadn’t been looking at him.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Arthur Morgan”

It was as though he had been thrown into frigid waters, his body seizing up as it worked to move in the way it had grown accustomed to in his previous life, where the threat of others made even sleep not aided by whiskey or medicine, light. His muscles tightened painfully and vision blurred with how fast he rose to his feet and sharply turned his head to the voice.

It took only seconds to focus on the figure in front of him. It looked like a man, a well-off man at that - one Arthur may have pilfered from in his former life. It bared a resemblance to Josiah, yet the lack of familiarity in its eye made clear he was no friend to Arthur. Its gaze was piercing, looking upon Arthur with the same interest one would look upon an experiment, expectant and quizzical. It was a gaze Arthur had felt upon him before, several times in the last few months of his life, both when alone and amongst crowds. He had chalked it up to paranoia, with the threat of a traitor in the gang and the law constantly being at his back; now, now he knew it was this Thing that had been watching him.

“Now just wh- what the hell are you, how did you get here?” Arthur wasn’t sure how he knew what was in front of him wasn’t man; it looked enough like a man, talked like one from what he heard too, but being here in Arthur’s world and with Boadicea reacting in such a way, it couldn’t be human.

“Well, I do find myself getting around places quite often. I go wherever I’m needed most.” It began to pace towards Arthur, instinctually Arthur’s hand moved to his hip - but of course, there was no weapon to defend himself with. The Thing’s eyebrows raised in a mocking astonishment as it drew up its arms in a show of surrender. “There’s no need to get hostile friend, as I said, I go where I’m needed. And as for your other question, I am a great many things. Some know me as a ferryman, others know me as a guide, some call me an accountant.”

“None of that’s makin’ any damn sense! You clearly ain’t human enough to be any of those things and I’m doin’ just fine here by myself, you ain’t needed.” With little else to defend himself other than his words, Arthur made sure every one of them echoed just how unwelcome the Ferryman was.

“Well, you are somewhat right. I am not needed here as such, but on account of your friend John Marshton doing some favour for me, I’m here with an offer.” 

“John? Why would John do any favours for you, how can you even be here!” The more the Ferryman talked the more Arthur began to lose his already shaken composure. How was it that Arthur had spent all this time here alone and then to have something just appear like this, and what could you possibly offer a deadman in paradise? 

“I just informed him of some people I know that were going to find themselves in some difficult situations. He was free to do whatever he wanted with that, I found it strange an outlaw would go out of his way to help people he didn’t know, I had expected him to ignore it at best and take advantage at worst. It seems like your sudden change of heart and untimely passing had quite the effect on him, married and stayed faithful to Abigail Marshton, tried his best raising a son he was never truly sure was his own, even spent some time checking up on some of your past acquaintances.”

Despite the situation, Arthur was glad to know John had been living a good life; the path of an outlaw was no place to take care of a family, but there was something in what the Ferryman said that chilled Arthur to the bone.

“Why are you talking as if John ain’t doing any of that no more?” It wasn’t as if Arthur expected the world to stop moving forward after his death, but he was certain he hadn’t spent long in this place for so much time to have passed. Had it already been so many years that John had succumbed to old age, or had life continued to bring discord unto the Van Der Linde gang members and stricken John with a fatal illness?

“Well, that would be because John Marston has been dead for quite some time now, around 3 years.” The Ferryman’s reply was blunt as if it was a simple fact; like he wasn’t talking about someone who had gone out of their way to help the stranger, as if he wasn’t talking about a husband, a father. “And despite the effort both he and Abigail Marshton put into raising their son, John Marshton the Second has fallen into the outlaw’s path.”

And so suddenly, Arthur could feel the weight of regret creeping back into him. What had once been banished by the sun had made its return. Arthur had been content in his final moments with the idea that he had been able to help someone escape the fall of the gang, knowing that despite all the life he took from others he was able to give life as his final act. Now though, Arthur knew it had all been pointless.

“What year is it back there?” Arthur’s voice was filled with emotions, too many to pick out any one - yet it was evident none were good.

“1914, John Marshton met his end in 1911, and Mrs. Marshton has only recently passed. I can tell you’re interested in what happened to them, it is quite the story.”

Arthur began to consider if he had been mistaken, had he been deluded into thinking this place a paradise when it had just been a carefully constructed falsehood. A farce to lead him to finally leave himself open to something he had promised himself to always be prepared for; the harrowing pain of having just the smallest bit of happiness he could scavenge, savagely ripped away from him. 

It wasn’t as though this wasn’t the first time he’d had this battle within himself, after Eliza and Issac he made sure to always remind himself how fleeting everything was. Yet time and time again he found himself with a new wound no one else could see, one that he’d let fester and drive him further into cynicism; it had happened multiple times with Mary, her rejection left Arthur feeling exposed and spiteful. Then again when John had left the gang, at least with Mary he’d had time to let the wound scar over, but with both Abigail and Jack around he was never left without a reminder that John had abandoned the gang, his family and Arthur, even if only for a short time.

Arthur hadn’t realised the Ferryman had been waiting for his acknowledgement. He nodded, of course he wanted to know what happened, part of him did wish he could stay in blissful ignorance and return to his joyous solitude.

“It would move things along much quicker if I were to show you, but things won’t be pleasant. It will be a lot to take in, as though you were remembering years of memories that aren’t yours in an instant, I could just recount things for you. It’s your choice.”

“Well, I ain’t exactly in any rush, not much taking up my time now.” Arthur’s discontent with everything reflected in his words. “What the hell, ain’t ever been a patient one. Go ahead and show me already.”

With a nod, the Ferryman raised his hand and Arthur’s small paradise was engulfed in a thick fog. Only moments passed like that, his once dreamy landscape now hazier and his thoughts muddled and unrecognisable. Then, all at once, the years following his last moments engulfed him. It felt as if they were John’s memories, but viewed outside his body; as though Arthur had been there, a spectre bound to John as he went about his life. Arthur’s mind felt like it was bending and stretching and twisting and breaking apart all at once. To say it was unpleasant certainly wasn’t wrong, but it seems as though the Ferryman hadn’t felt the need to explain that he meant ‘unpleasant’ in the sense that having one’s skin ripped off in the blink of an eye wasn’t particularly pleasant. Arthur didn’t even have the ability to breathe at that point, let alone shout or scream.

And then, as quickly as the pain and confusion came, it was over.

“You goddamned bastard, a hangover is unpleasant. That was a bit more than unpleasant!” The fog had yet to clear, the reply Arthur heard was the only sign the Ferryman was still there.

“Apologise friend.” The Ferryman sounded distinctly unapologetic. “I’ll leave you alone for a moment, you’ll need some time to process I’d imagine. I’ll be back soon to give my offer.” 

The fog faded slowly and Arthur was back in his own world. It had now lost its once ethereal beauty. As with all things in Arthur’s life, and now even beyond that, something had come along to destroy any shred of his happiness. How could he justify being in a near-perfect world when all he had fought for amounted to so little, even Jack who had been so book smart and unlike the rest of them had been dragged into the wretched life of an outlaw.

The Ferryman was right, it took time to process everything Arthur knew now, there’s a difference between knowing and understanding. Arthur knew just how much everything crumbled in that instant everything flashed into his mind; but standing there, as he began to understand everything, it brought him to his knees. 

Arthur had never been one to cry, thought he’d done his life’s worth of crying as a child, not even as he lay dying did he shed a tear. This was too much for him to keep up that streak; the scene of John echoing Arthur’s words to Abigail and Jack as he turned to walk out towards his execution, Javier cursing John as he was taken away, Bill losing his mind and turning into a monster, and despite everything Dutch’s broken corpse still hurt to see. 

It was the lack of knowledge that allowed Arthur to find peace and happiness in this place. He could convince himself those who died before him ended up in a similar way, and those that were still alive after his death went on to live better lives. He supposed at least John had done that for a time, but it had been shattered far too soon, and of course it ended up leading back to that rat, Micah. Arthur knew revenge was pointless but understood why John and the others felt the need to go after Micah, not just for Arthur but because he had come in and set their family ablaze. The world was a much better place without Micah but the price to pay had been the Pinkertons placing their sights on John.

Arthur wondered if John knew how everything was going to play out, the type of people to kidnap a man’s wife and child aren’t the type of people to leave things unfinished. John was to bring in the members of the Van Der Linde gang, he must have been aware that meant himself.

“Guess you didn’t have much of a choice, did you, John.”

Arthur could hear the soft crunching of leaves behind him, after being with them for so long he already knew it was Boadicea returning. He hadn’t realised just how strange it was to be apart from them even for a short while, he’d had Boadicea by his side near-constantly since he’d arrived here.

“Nice to see you back so soon.” He tried to mask the grief he felt but the cracks in his voice laid him bare. Boadicea continued their slow approach, as though to not startle Arthur.

“This is all a real mess ain’t it? After all that I could only give a handful of years to John. All I ever did was take, and what I try to give back can never make up for that but-” Arthur paused, defeated, his voice weak in the same way it had been in those months when even breathing was an ordeal, “Dammit, I hoped that maybe I was able to give something in the end. O’course not, when have I ever given anything worth havin’.” 

His guide trotted to where Arthur was kneeling with his head down and shoulders slumped. The presence comforted Arthur as it always had, but his head was still spiralling with the disaster that was the fate of the Van Der Linde gang. What Arthur would give to change it.

Arthur had never even considered the possibility of changing anything, not just because it would be pointless to do so, but also because he had long since come to terms with everything. Now the many possible what-ifs were consuming him, he felt it crawling up his spine, filling his lungs and holding his throat. Regret is a malevolent poison, there was no doubt in Arthur’s mind that his restful days were over, no doubt regret would soon take him whole and trap him forever.

Maybe he had been wrong, his sins had not been overlooked so graciously. Maybe he had been sent to hell after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify a few things, Arthur isn’t actually in hell if that wasn’t clear and there’s some references to Greek mythology here and there in this. Firstly and most obviously the chapter title ‘Elysian Fields’ also known as Elysium is where Greek heroes would go after death, that’s not where Arthur is but you know made thematic sense with the chapter. Secondly the Strange Man saying some called him a ‘Ferryman’ this is a nod to Charon the boatman of The River Styx, its been theorised the Strange Man is akin to the Grim Reaper so I decided to play into that a little bit.
> 
> As the tag suggests I have no idea where this is really going. At the moment this is all I’ve done with this story, nothing more already done or even planned (not that I ever plan my writing anyway) I write pretty slow (only around 400 words a day since I only really write for an hour a day before sleeping) so I don’t have a schedule to give. This won’t be it for the story but I’m not making promises that I’ll ever complete something since this’ll likely end up being a fairly big story. Hopefully I’ll have another chapter out by the end of the month.


End file.
